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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23188540">think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_tlejuice/pseuds/bi-tlejuice'>bi-tlejuice (bi_tlejuice)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_tlejuice/pseuds/bi_tlejuice'>bi_tlejuice</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Excessive Drinking, Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, excessive smoking weed, just some boys in love who don't know how to deal with it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 05:48:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23188540</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_tlejuice/pseuds/bi-tlejuice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_tlejuice/pseuds/bi_tlejuice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>after all the shit that happened, tweek kind of feels like he's got everything sorted</p><p>in some kind of homosexual, roundabout confusing way, he realises he doesn't.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. there's these terrors, and it feels as if someone's gripping my throat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi! i posted this last year but ao3 glitched and it wasn't updating, so here we go again! please, please PLEASE leave feedback if you like it, if you hate it, if you think it's average whatever!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I would've cleaned if I'd known you were coming." It's this that makes Tweek look up at him, because Craig hates cleaning almost as much as Tweek hates mess.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi! hope ur liking it. warning for dream sequence at the end that is quite violent and graphic (just skip the italics after he falls asleep)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nobody is really certain when 'Tweek and Craig' became a specific branch of what was always known as 'Craig and those guys,' but despite having been unaware of this transition, Tweek is now overly aware of the result. It's not an exclusion or anything, because it's not like he's not willing to hang out with any of the other guys alone (Token is often at the coffee shop when Craig is busy and sits with Tweek whenever he can convince him to have a break, and Clyde goes absolutely buck wild whenever Tweek asks if he wants to drive him on a grocery run,) but for however far back he can remember, him and Craig have been an extra pairing within the group. Maybe it has something to do with Craig and Kenny being friends before Tweek moved in - but then again, the whole concept of Tweek and Craig has been around since long before then. Something about Craig Tucker just makes Tweek's life so much <em>easier</em>. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"What is it that you guys do, anyway? Like, you're there for <b>hours</b>," Clyde asked, not pausing from his game of throwing fries in Jimmy's mouth across the cafeteria table.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"We- I- how do <b>you</b> know how- howlong I'm there!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'm full of psychic knowledge," he punctuated with a wink.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Craig rolled his eyes, bringing a famous pout from Clyde when he interjected with "no, you just message me constantly asking what I'm doing whenever I'm not online to play COD with you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"God, you're such a party pooper. Except when the party is just me trying to have fun."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You trying to have fun spoils everything."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tweek lets the two of them bicker, a lot less bothered than he used to be about being literally stuck in the middle between them. What <b>do</b> they do at Craig's house?  Anything, or everything, really. Hanging out with Craig isn't like entering a realm of calm or something, because Craig Tucker is one of the most stubborn and annoying people Tweek has ever met. They argue constantly, and Craig always plays Halo too loud when Tweek needs to concentrate, and calls out how Tweek always falls asleep midway through the movie, right before it gets good.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But also, Craig lets Tweek talk for hours about how the American Government faked the moon landing and every other conspiracy theory he can get his hands on, and doesn't wake him up when he falls asleep during movies and lets him just sit in the corner and hold Stripe when he's had a really bad day. Craig Tucker is a fucking asshole, but maybe he isn't that bad.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It's one of those days when Tweek lets himself in to the Tucker household. Humming and the sound of running water is the only noise present when he shuts the cold out behind him, meaning unless Tricia is napping then Craig is the only one home. The kettle is cold when Tweek sticks his frozen fingers on it, so he pulls out another mug from above the sink to make a tea for the other boy. Why was today a bad day? Nothing had happened, really - when he'd woken up, Tweek's brain had said something along the lines of <em>no matter what today consists of, you're gonna feel like a shitty four out of ten at best all day</em> and he still hasn't really worked out a way around those days yet. </p><p>Stripe squeaks like he's happy to see him, which is questionable, but it gets even louder when Tweek puts the drinks down on Craig's cluttered desk and produces some romaine lettuce he stole from the fridge downstairs. Technically, this is either Stripe 3 or 4, but he's definitely Tweek's favourite because he's cuddly and lazy. If they leave the bedroom door open he won't dash for it like the first Stripe did, and he's more than happy to sit cradled against Tweek's chest in exchange for an occasional snack. In all seriousness, Stripe is definitely classified as best friend material in Tweek's head.</p><p>"Oh, uh. Hey," come's Craig's voice from the bedroom doorway, and Tweek realises he's been so absorbed with whatever cute noises Stripe had been making that he didn't even hear the shower stop running. "I would've cleaned if I'd known you were coming." It's this that makes Tweek look up at him, because Craig hates cleaning almost as much as Tweek hates mess. Unsurprisingly for someone who was not expecting company, Craig's hair is in messy spikes from the shower with droplets of water beading on his bare shoulders and only a towel tied around his waist. Blood rushes to Tweek's cheeks, though he's not sure why. It's not like he's never seen Craig in a towel before. </p><p>"I- I came to- to see Stripe, not you," he says, and then because the words sound too harsh coming out of his mouth, "Don't w-worry. I can- I- <em>fuck- </em>I'll clean."</p><p>"Stripe is definitely superior to me in any way, shape or form," Craig agrees, and due to the continuously monotone air of his words Tweek can't quite tell if he's being serious or not. "Go make yourself a coffee if you want." Tweek jerks his head over to the desk and the two steaming mugs and Craig cracks a grin, all crooked teeth and slightly wonky, and Tweek feels more okay than he has since yesterday. "I've got some Bio homework, then do you wanna play Halo or something?"</p><p>"Can I- we justwatch something?"</p><p>Craig shrugs, swiping a pair of clean boxers from the laundry pile on his chair and motioning for Tweek to turn around. "Whatever you wanna do, dude." And that settles it, really. Tweek decides the best course of action is to clean Craig's room whilst he studies and then finish just in time to put on something Craig doesn't want to watch, because he never changes it once Tweek's already started watching. "D'you mind if I dump the desk mess onto the floor so I can work?"</p><p>"No," Tweek hums, because in Craig's room there really aren't different messes, it's just all one big mess. Then after he turns around, "fuck, are- have you<em> actually</em> started go- goingto the gym with- with Clyde?" because Craig's facing the wall and trying to reach a t-shirt that's tucked on top of his closet and there are actual, real back muscles. </p><p>"<em>No,</em>" Craig flies back, whipping around once he's grabbed the shirt as if to protect his back from Tweek's eyes. "Why, can you tell?" Laughter escapes him without control, loud and ugly, Stripe squirming out of his hands and settling a few feet away as Craig flushes a soft pink. "I had to go, okay? Clyde said I was going to be the dad bod friend if he went without me."</p><p>"Clyde will- will always be the dad bod friend," Tweek reassures him, stuffing his fist over his mouth to stop smirking at Craig flexing in the mirror. It's not like Craig doesn't look good, or anything. Craig's always looked good - he hit puberty with full force, unlike Tweek's feeble attempt, and broadened at the same time he grew. The loose muscular definition lining his torso and back is faint but definitely noticeable, and Tweek finds himself feeling almost embarrassed at how long he's been looking. Whatever. Craig's too busy looking at himself in the mirror to notice.</p><p>The rest of the afternoon passes relatively quickly, Tweek making sure to text Kenny and let him know he wouldn't be home when Tricia came in without knocking to tell them Mrs Tucker had made pasta bake for both of them. Craig punches his arm in what can only be described as a loving fashion when he looks up from his Biology homework and meets eyes with where Tweek is dusting his bookshelf. </p><p>"Come on, loser. Dinner smells fucking good."</p><p>"Shut up, dickwad. Don't- do you know how bad breathing- breathing in dust is?" Tweek scowls, but he puts the cloth down anyways because the smell is making his mouth water and he hasn't had anything since Karen made him a sandwich for lunch yesterday. Rolling his eyes, Craig stops squatting next to him and walks out of the bedroom door, waiting against the door frame until Tweek walks past and leads them both downstairs. </p><p>"Hi, Mrs Tucker," he says as she places two bowls of overly cheesy pasta on the table. </p><p>"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Tweek - you know it's Laura. Now Craig, the bowl on the left is yours because Tweek needs to eat as much as possible. Have you been eating at home, honey? You know you're always welcome for dinner here."</p><p>"Fuck off," Craig says lightly, grabbing the left bowl anyway. Hunger has never really been something Tweek feels, but he's been starving ever since Tricia mentioned food and he inhales the pasta in the time it takes Craig to eat half of his. "Fucking hell, you want some more?" he teases, but he's scanning Tweek's frame with something that Tweek might call concern if Craig's faces were any less hard to read. "Is there garlic bread, mom?"</p><p>There in fact is, and Tweek eats three slices instantly and a further two when Mrs Tucker coaxes him by leaving them on his plate. "Are you staying the night?"</p><p>"Ymf," Craig says around a mouthful of garlic bread. Apparently yes, then. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Rock-a-bye baby... on the tree top."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Blood is everywhere, overwhelming his senses, bile crawling up his throat at the pungent smell of death saturating the living room. There's something that looks like a chunk of flesh oozing blood into the now stained carpet several feet away from where his dad is slumped over the coffee table. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"When the... wind blows, the cradle will... rock."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shards of glass from the mirror pierce both eyeballs and there's a horrific tear through his cheek like he's smirking at a joke Tweek is never going to understand. Vomit drips from his stilled chin, mixing with the blood leaking from his throat and chest.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"When the bough breaks..."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She's seen him before he sees her, the deranged grin plastered on her face not looking like his mother at all. Soaked in blood she starts to step towards him, humming with every shuffle of her bloodied socks across the carpet.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"The baby... will fall."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That is not his mother. The gift wrapping scissors that were a gift from his grandmother two Christmases ago are slick with blood in her tight grip, split knuckles bruised and raw as she gets closer and closer.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"And down... will come... baby."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That is not his mother. It's not his mother. It's not his mother. Tweek backs himself up into the corner  underneath the desk. It's not his mother, it's not, it can't be.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Cradle and all."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's barely even a whisper, but now the grin has been wiped from her face and it's much, much worse. Instincts kick in for him when she lunges, pushing off of his hands to kick out at her and throw everything in his reach in attempt to knock her back. Undeterred she </em>
  <em> swipes  with the scissors once more, eyes widening with <b>something</b> when they stick in Tweek's outer thigh. He starts screaming, the noise harsh and barreling out of his throat uncontrollably as she grabs for the scissors again. The lullabye starts again, a mumble under her breath that's the loudest thing Tweek ever heard and no matter how loud he screams it's still there, inside his ears and scratching behind his eyes. It's not her, it can't be. She wouldn't do this to him, to his dad. Bile threatens to rise again as she grabs the front of his shirt and the collar tears, impossible to stop no matter how hard he pushes her away. It's not her, it's not her, it's not-</em>
</p><p>"Tweek," Craig murmurs right next to his ear. Tweek shoots up, skin burning in a cold sweat as he takes in his surroundings. "Mmm, wha's goin' on?" he sighs, clearly still mostly asleep. "You ok?"</p><p>"Bad dream," Tweek forces out, clenching his hands in his hair and pulling as hard as possible just to hold on to something. "Go back to- to sleep."</p><p>"Y'sure?"</p><p>"It's fine, I'm fine," he repeats, and Craig is unaware just enough for it to work.  He falls back asleep almost instantly, his hand curled loosely around the bottom of Tweek's t-shirt. "I'm fine," Tweek says to nobody other than himself. "I'm fine." </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. and if we can't find where we belong we'll have to make it on our own</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Auntie Mabel in South Carolina had offered him her spare room the second she'd been notified as Tweek's next-of-kin, but without being overdramatic, Tweek would rather die than leave South Park.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tweek recognises the footsteps before Kenny even gets within 10 meters, but he doesn't bother to turn around and instead just keeps swinging at the sack hung in front of them. Originally, this was Kenny's method of teaching Karen some basic self defence - stuff a pillow to the brim and then tie it to a tree in their garden - but now it's Tweek's method of getting all of his anger out as quickly as possible. Sometimes, Kenny is just like everyone else and tries to make him talk about why he's angry because sharing your emotions is the best way to heal. That's what Tweek's therapist said, anyway. Other times Kenny gets it and just sits with Tweek until he's over it. This is one of those times; the joint appears in his peripheral before Kenny does and he backs down immediately, turning to meet Kenny. With a bloodied nose for a reason Tweek's sure he'll find out soon enough, he looks even rougher than he did this morning.</p><p>"You look like- like shit," he scowls, but he's already feeling better now that Kenny's here.</p><p>"Ha! Yeah, out of the two of us I'm the one that looks rough," he retorts with a shit eating grin, producing a lighter out of nowhere in particular and sparking the spliff. "You look like you're ready to drop dead any second."</p><p>"Try me, I'll fucking do it. Is- is this- is thismy weed or your weed?"</p><p>"It's our weed," Kenny says graciously, blowing smoke in Tweek's face when he rolls his eyes. "What made you beat the shit out of that pillow then?"</p><p>"I wasn't- it's not a- a pillow, it's a punching bag because I- I'm fucking hardcore." Kenny wheezes with laughter, managing to expertly duck when Tweek sticks his elbow towards the nose-region. "I just- I want- I- fuck!" Swallowing and breathing heavily through his nose, Tweek counts to five in his head and tries again through gritted teeth. "I just want people to act normal around me."</p><p>"Who was it this time?"</p><p>"It- it wasfucking Clyde," he glowers, accepting the spliff from Kenny and then immediately dropping it onto his bare calf because his fingers twitched when he grabbed it. Kenny gives him a second to stick his face in his hands and swear as loud as he possibly can before he tries to pass him the spliff again. "He- he made a 'your mom' joke and- not- not like it was funny o-or anything, but he made it an- and he looked at me like he'd just- just- I don't know, been the one who killed her or- or something. And then he- then he spent all of- of- of fifth period nearly in- nearly fucking crying because he felt so bad for bringing it up!" Kenny rolls his eyes in an understanding way and Tweek deflates slightly; at least someone else understands how Clyde's emotional overloads can be irritating instead of endearing (not that anyone other than Butters seems to actually find Clyde endearing.) It's not that they don't like Clyde or anything - he's sweet, most of the time, and he can be the life of the party when everyone else is being boring - he's just too fucking much for Tweek sometimes. "Fucking hell," he sighs, taking a long drag of the joint and closing his eyes to exhale, letting a little more tension leaving his body. "So, you want to- you- you wanna tell me who- uh, who busted your nose?"</p><p>"Who d'you think?" he scoffs, poking at it cautiously and wincing slightly. "Cartman, obviously. But- and I know I say it all the time, but you fucking should see the other guy."</p><p>"What'd he do?"</p><p>"Told me Karen was gonna end up stripping 'cos she's too used to being poor."</p><p>Yikes. "What'd you do?"</p><p>"Kicked the everlasting shit out of him," he responds, the dreamy look in his eyes suggesting it was something of an enjoyable experience. "Like, it was KO, dude. He only got one punch in - he's just a fucking meaty sack of shit, so it really fucked my nose."</p><p>"God, I- I fucking hate Cartman," Tweek sighs, passing the joint to Kenny and snorting when Kenny over-dramatically agrees. They smoke the rest in silence, lightly bumping shoulders to keep away the biting cold that neither of them ever dress appropriately for. Tweek never really feels it unless he's sat completely still, a rare occasion due to the energy he feels constantly running through him. It would be nice to just stop, occasionally. "What- what's for dinner?"</p><p>"Uh, me paying the electricity bill?"</p><p>Tweek rolls his eyes, but he knows by now that Kenny will sense the fondness and not rise to it. "I can- can- fuck- I'll get some pasta if you- if you drive me."</p><p>"There's the roommate I know and love!" Kenny cheers, messily kissing his cheek before zipping his coat back up to cover his face. "Shotgun."</p><p>Tweek rolls his eyes again.</p><p>-</p><p>Kenny's stupid advert literally could not have come at a better time. Any earlier and Tweek would have forgotten about it - stuck it up in the window like asked, of course, he's not an asshole, but forgotten nonetheless. Dates and times are never ones to stick in his head, but the letter pinned up above the makeshift bed in the storeroom reminds him every day that he has two more days to confirm he's in a "secure" living environment before he's required to contact them "for support." Auntie Mabel in South Carolina had offered him her spare room the second she'd been notified as Tweek's next-of-kin, but without being overdramatic, Tweek would rather die than leave South Park. Don't get him wrong, sometimes he hates living in such a shitty backwards tiny town, but having to leave the few strongholds he has to start completely fresh would arguably completely destroy him. So he'd thanked her, obviously, but politely-as-possible declined and said he would find somewhere to live so he could carry on at school here. That was all well and good as Tweek didn't really see an issue with sleeping on the raised floor in the storeroom, but the stupid social workers with the police are definitely going to visit him in two days and he has to provide evidence of an actual home or they'll force him to move in with his aunt.</p><p>"Uh, so is that a no?" Kenny frowns, and judging by the amount of customers queuing behind him that were not there before, Tweek estimates that he's been staring at the messily scrawled advert blankly for some time now.</p><p>"Shit," he mutters, waving Annie over from where she's wiping down tables and flashing her what he can only assume appears as an overly frantic smile when she goes to serve the next customer. Tweek barges into the storeroom, skimming over what he's holding again as Kenny follows him. "This can- this isfor anyone? Like, like- anyone can apply?"</p><p>"Yessir!" beams Kenny in a mock salute, eyes immediately drawn to the pile of blankets and pillows next to the cardboard box that says 'CLOTEHS' in permanent marker (because Clyde got distracted when he was supposed to be helping.) "Why, d'you know someone?"</p><p>"Yes," says Tweek. 1 bedroom attached house with working shower and toilet. Kitchen downstairs with stove, kettle and microwave. Sofa with TV that works sometimes. Monthly contribution to bills as well as minimal rent. Contact Kenny McCormick for more details.</p><p>"Me," Tweek adds, judging from Kenny's expression that the room they're in isn't explanation enough. "I'm- I don't- live here?"</p><p>"You don't live here?"</p><p>"No- no, I live here- like, in this- in this room. I need somewhere to- t-to stay. Im- Immedi- now."</p><p>"Oh, no way!" he grins, before clearing his throat and probably remembering who he's talking to, because yes way. "And paying bills wouldn't be a big deal?"</p><p>"I- I work full time. I have- I've got all of the- the money myparents left me."</p><p>"Hell fuckin' yeah! I didn't want to put on the notice that we urgently needed someone- you have no idea how ideal this is." You and me both, Tweek doesn't say. "When did you wanna move in?"</p><p>"Today- if- I mean, istoday okay?"</p><p>"Yeah- oh shit, wait. Do you mind like, weed? I couldn't really put it on the add, but I smoke it in the living room. Obviously if you stay in your little house-y bit it won't affect you, but I kinda assume we'll hang out with the working TV at mine."</p><p>"Craig b- he buys our weed from- from you."</p><p>"Oh. Cool then! That grumpy fucker just tells me to piss off whenever I ask what his plans are. But yeah, that's fuckin' great. D'you want a hand with your stuff, or?"</p><p>"I've only got a- a- a box. I need to- to close up in an hour. Is thenokay?"</p><p>Kenny grins, all chipped teeth and real, genuine sparkle in his eyes. Whilst Tweek is obviously worried about having to move Kenny from the 'is nice, hangs out with Stan and those guys who aren't nice, sits with me in math, sells weed to Craig' box to the 'roommate and therefore possibly expecting a development in friendship' box, he's relieved enough that he quickly squeezes Kenny back after he dives in for a hug. How bad could it possibly be?</p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly, the answer is not bad at all. Kenny comes in loud waves of intense positive energy that are sometimes far too much for Tweek to handle, but on the flipside is completely respectful of boundaries and never comes into Tweek's flat unless invited. It goes unsaid (in the way that Kenny reminds him by saying it) that Tweek is welcome over any time, and it's only two weeks before Karen starts texting him to come over and eat dinner or watch a new documentary she's found for both of them. Everyone thinks it's kind of weird at first, how it's gone from Craig driving Tweek and Tricia to Craig driving Tweek, Tricia, Kenny and Karen - Craig said it would be weird to stop picking up Tweek on his way to school even though it isn't on his way anymore, and then Tricia begged for Karen to come and then they couldn't make Kenny drive himself - but they got over it pretty quickly. Tweek noticed (unfortunately) that Stan and those guys often joined them at lunch now, or in the smoking pit when it wasn't bitterly cold, but he also noticed (fortunately) that Kenny was quicker to shut Stan's whining down or shut Eric up whenever he produced some kind of dig at Tweek or anyone nearby. On Friday nights, Kenny takes Karen to stay with Tricia then picks up Tweek from work with Craig. The night is a jumble of drinking, Chinese takeaway, smoking and Mario Kart, and Tweek feels more like he has a home than he ever did living with his parents.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. it was a lie when they smiled and said you won't feel a thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Token's hands are on the table, poised like he's ready to run, ready to catch Tweek if he has to. </p><p>Tweek is faster.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw for panic attack! also don't come for me, this is how i experience panic attack ik it's not everyone's</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
In hindsight, he definitely should have seen it coming. Not understood the scale of it, necessarily, but seen <em>something </em>coming nonetheless.</p><p>It starts with Clyde- well, if he's being realistic, it starts with the horrific nightmare he has on Saturday night that stops him from sleeping on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday night. His childhood living room encloses him but he's watching everything unfold from the perspective of his mom this time, watching his dad struggle from underneath him, barely coherent and eyes crossed. Watching <em>himself</em> cower on the other side of the room, not helping, approaching himself with a knife as his dad bleeds out on the carpet-</p><p>Anyway. It starts with Clyde on Wednesday morning in their History class tapping the back of his chair repeatedly to try and get him to pass a note to Token. Hyperawareness of the tapping is making everything else overload his senses; he can hear Red's bubblegum four rows in front like it's right next to him, and the way Kyle's nearly-empty biro scratches on his paper feels like it's scratching the inside of his ears. After a minute he turns with such thunder in his movement that his chair scrapes on the floor, Clyde pulling away when he sees the look on his face.</p><p>"Oh, man. Is today like a super depressed day for you? Sorry man. I'll leave you alone, don't worry. I <em>completely </em>get it," he whispers, except he's not whispering at all and everyone can hear him completely. Tweek turns back around and sinks his head into his hands, fingers periodically tightening in his hair to get him through the rest of the lesson. The teacher doesn't keep him behind afterwards, but she does look at him with a weighted pity, and he doesn't know if that's worse.</p><p>Paranoia bubbles around his every step, rising higher every time he catches someone looking at him, laughing near him, whispering <em>about </em>him. His anxiety splinters and crumbles away slightly when he sees Craig slumped against his locker wearing the NASA hoodie Tweek got him last Christmas, and he thinks maybe it won't be such a bad day. Then Tricia gets to Craig first, smacking his arm probably harder than necessary and walking away before he has the chance to respond. Tweek hurries over before Craig has the chance to leave, cocking an eyebrow in Tricia's direction in hope of an explanation.</p><p>"Fuck- <em>apparently </em>we've got a family dentist appointment that <em>nobody</em> felt the need to tell me about that starts in <em>fifteen fucking minutes.</em>"</p><p>"Oh man," is all Tweek can really manage.</p><p>"Mine after school though, right?" he says over his shoulder as Tricia stomps back over and drags him away. The crooked grin he lets slip when Tweek nods brightens everything ever so slightly.</p><p>It doesn't last.</p><p>In English, it's a substitute teacher and she can't read his writing but tells him not to worry after an over-exaggerated check of her class notes. That makes his skin crawl ever so slightly, but it's nothing compared to Eric actually standing up to have a tantrum about it (because he has a detention for not bringing his own homework.) Unable to bring himself to focus on the torrent coming out of his mouth, he only hears snippets of <em>spaz</em> and <em>retard </em>and <em>maybe he didn't do any fucking work at all</em> before he shoves his book into his backpack and walks out of the classroom. Two tenth graders are sat cross-legged by the water fountain, eyeing him cautiously as he storms past them into the bathroom. There's someone smoking in one of the cubicles, but the silence he's met with introduces an understanding of <em>I won't bother you if you leave me alone. </em>Exhaling feeling like someone's crushing his chest, he takes a deep breath and looks in the mirror.</p><p>Tweek looks awful, even for his own standards. There's some kind of soup on his t-shirt, a half-scrubbed stain he doesn't remember scrubbing or staining at all. Even with his belt done up as tight as it goes his jeans still hang off of his hips and suddenly he's not sure whether he's eaten an actual meal since he had dinner at Craig's on Sunday night. Purple bags under his eyes could almost be mistaken for bruises at this point, unbelievably bloodshot eyes not helping his cause. And, to his absolute disgust, Stan Marsh comes in as he's attempting to pin down his hair with a variety of coloured pins he's been collecting from Karen.</p><p>"Woah, you look- I mean, uh. Hey, Tweek," he fake grins, the effort so pathetically awkward that Tweek has to use most of his remaining energy to stop himself from smacking his skull on the sink. "You're not like, having a panic attack or something, are you?"</p><p>"<em>Do I look like I'm having a panic attack?"</em> he manages to get out through what he feels are permanently gritted teeth.</p><p>"No- I mean, yes? I mean- you never really know with you?" Stan tries, probably sensing he's said the wrong thing at the same time Tweek feels his face twist into something fueled with ugly emotion. "I really need a shit," he blurts out, locking himself in the remaining cubicle before he has the chance to do any more damage. He means well, so Tweek can't get that angry at him, but it's getting too fucking much to just be looked at like- like <em>that</em> all the time. Like he's about to snap if someone breathes at him the wrong way.</p><p>"You like, freaking out or what then?" Eric taunts from behind him where Tweek didn't even see him come in. "Come <em>on, </em>Tweeker," he continues, grinning when Tweek's eyes narrow. "It's boring if you don't."</p><p>Tweek leaves the bathroom. If Eric's here, it's lunchtime anyway. Lunch without Craig or Kenny (who spends his whole lunch in the smoking pit behind the bike shed) isn't a prospect he's eager to face, but he knows he should eat something before his stomach caved in or something drastic like that. Kyle smiles at him as he sits down, so maybe it won't be that bad.</p><p>"I heard you t-t-totally freaked, dude," Jimmy says as he slides next to him, wincing when Tweek smacks his face into his hands. "W-woah man, be cool. This is a suh-safe place."</p><p>Clyde comes on his other side, gently patting his back as if too much pressure will break him in half. "You feeling ok today?"</p><p>That's it.</p><p>Tweek doesn't remember what he says or how he says it, but he has a vague feeling it's angry and not entirely pleasant. One half of his plastic lunch tray is on the floor next to Eric - who's covered in Chef's custard and whining about a bleeding nose - and the other half is seemingly nowhere to be seen. Everyone within 6 feet of him has some portion of his uneaten lunch either on their clothes or in their hair. Once the initial shocked silence has had a moment to stew, the cafeteria erupts in whispers. </p><p>
  <em>What's wrong with him?</em>
</p><p>Tweek whips around, feels his face burning, but the voice doesn't seem to have a particular source. <em>Freak</em>. The whispers are coming from everywhere and nowhere and Tweek sees the door as if he's already looking at it from outside. <em>He's so fucked up</em>. <em>Isn't he an addict? </em>The only thing louder than his heart thumping in his ears are the voices, and he feels like they're crawling down his throat and through his eyes with sharp nails. <em>What the fuck is wrong with him what a fucking freak don't make eye contact. </em>Token's hands are on the table, poised like he's ready to run, ready to catch Tweek if he has to. <em>Freak psycho addict don't go anywhere near him he's fucked up there's something deeply wrong what a fucking mental case.</em></p><p>Tweek is faster. </p><p>---</p><p>Logically, he knows he must have walked home, because there is literally no other way he could have got there and also his legs are burning exactly like he's just ran from school to the edge of town. Knowing that he must have ran there doesn't help him remember it, though. Knowing it doesn't help him figure out why he's slumped on the floor of his shower, fully clothed with ice cold water cascading down onto him and fingers so cold they're a soft purple. When Kenny's head comes into view around the doorway, he realises that the front door slamming is what made him come to.</p><p>"What're you- oh, fuck off," Kenny curses, half-jogging over to shut off the water before tugging a towel off of the heater. "Strip before you get fucking hypothermia and I kill you for being such an idiot." Because there's nothing better to do, Tweek numbly complies, snorting despite himself when Kenny has to unbutton his shirt and unbuckle his belt for him due to the loss of sensation in his fingers. "Underwear too, asswipe, unless you want a frostbite dick."</p><p>Tweek doesn't want a frostbite dick, and is too focused on the relief of the warm towel to worry about how naked he is. Kenny's toweling his hair roughly but not painfully and Tweek squeezes his eyes shut to focus on it, the slight tugging grounding him as much as the murmuring in his ear - he can't make out what's being said, not really, but the voice is enough. When Tweek first moved in this kind of scenario would have resulted in some kind of uncomfortable guilt bubbling over in his stomach, but Kenny's spent so long dismissing the idea of doing anything other than helping that Tweek's paranoia can't be bothered to fight him on it anymore. Besides, he's pulled Kenny out of his own vomit puddles and rinsed off his unconscious body enough times for it to feel like they're at least roughly even. </p><p>The kettle whistling downstairs is what really brings him back down, allowing himself to take a deep breath in and scrunch his toes in the ratty carpet beneath them. "Decaf coffee?" Kenny offers, his crooked grin relaxing Tweek ever so slightly more after he agrees. </p><p>This dynamic the two of them have is something Clyde just <em>loves</em> to never shut the fuck up about. "<em>In an abstract way,</em>" Tweek remembers him saying when they were smoking a joint in Craig's garden last summer, "<em>it kind of makes sense that you two ended up in this whole situation. It's like- fuck off, Token, <b>obviously</b> I know what abstract means. It's like, you guys are probably the most fucked up in our whole year,</em>" he had said, carrying on despite Craig muttering something about don't even get him <em>started </em>about Eric Cartman. "<em>Tweek, you're responsible and good at taking care of yourself, you're just lacking a little in the 'holding it together' front. Kenny is great at holding himself together but is sorely wanting for some kind of ability to take himself seriously. You know?</em>" And at the time, Tweek hadn't really known - or maybe he had, without even realising, and he'd just brushed it up to Clyde attempting to poetically wax about something or other instead of saying something of real standing - but now it seems to make perfect sense. Tweek breaks a lot in some kind of way, and Kenny's never not happy to support him in any way he can. Kenny's so busy looking after Tweek and Kyle and Stan and Butters and Karen that there's none of him to take care of himself, and that's where Tweek steps in. </p><p>Maybe he's looking into it too much. It's not like they were chosen by the universe to be drawn to one another; Kenny had somewhere he needed someone to live in, and Tweek needed somewhere to live. It's just always made more sense in his mind to compartmentalise pretty much every part of his life, from everything like why certain friendships work so well to why the coffee in the storeroom is arranged in a zigzag pattern. Craig is his favourite person because he isn't weird about Tweek's family, they like all of the same things and Tweek has never felt more comfortable being alone with anyone else. Him and Kenny work so well together because they know how to support each other in the areas they're not able to alone, they're both great with Karen and they both smoke a shit ton of weed. The list goes on. Tweek dresses like boxers - left sock - right sock - sweatpants - drawstring - t-shirt - jumper. Soft floating calm lingers in the back of his mind in the way it always does after he's kind of let everything go. Sure, he'll probably freak out massively about him doing <em>that</em> in front of the whole cafeteria at some point, but right now he's going to ride the high of being very rarely relaxed.</p><p>"D'you wanna talk about it?" Kenny hums, and Tweek is thankful at how light he's keeping the conversation. Not treading on eggshells or anything annoying like that, but keeping his normal demeanour intact as he spoons sugar into his cup of tea. It's one of the reasons Tweek finds it so easy to open up to Kenny; it's not a big deal and there's no prolonged eye contact that always ends up making Tweek even more freaked out.</p><p>"I'm tired of- of- of everyone talk- talking to me like, like I'm about to snap a-nd- and become a meth a-addict," he replies, sipping his coffee, because if Kenny acts like it isn't a big deal that helps Tweek pretend as well. </p><p>"Clyde said you broke your lunch tray across Cartman's nose because he said something about you being a spastic."</p><p>Tweek nods slowly, as if he's pondering the thought. "What- what exactly, uh- was said?"</p><p>"You don't remember?" Kenny frowns, looking up at him this time. Tweek just keeps idly staring at the way the black liquid swirls around in his mug as he stirs it. </p><p>"It may have- have, have slipped my mind?"</p><p>"Something about riling everyone up about you not having to do any homework- 's not important," Kenny dismisses, smirking slightly when Tweek pulls a face in his want to know exactly what set him off. "C'mon, what's the point in finding out? Y'know Cartman was a fuckin' asshole, and it go to you- everyone else that <em>matters</em> knows you breakin' your lunch tray over his face was justified." Kenny tosses the tea bag into the sink and lifts a shoulder in the direction of the back door as a way of beckoning Tweek over. "Let's go for a cig, yeah?"</p><p>And Tweek follows, because yeah.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>kudos if you liked it! comments if u hate it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. i'm trying to let you know just how much you mean to me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"To chill you out? To support you, if we're gonna be gay about it," he shrugs, as if what he's saying is no big deal, as if it's just another throwaway comment and not blowing Tweek's fucking mind. "I'll be a walking excuse to leave any conversation you don't wanna have."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if ao3 didn't want me to use mcr song lyrics for every chapter title they would have made the character limit shorter and that's that on that</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The relief he feels in his stomach when Craig is stood in Kenny's kitchen is overwhelming, but there's a new feeling there, something unknown that twists in his stomach in an unwelcome fashion. Neither he nor Tricia and Karen notice him come in - the girls focused on smacking Kenny with a pillow to stop him snoring on the couch and Craig stirring a thermos of coffee whilst scrolling through instagram - giving him a much needed moment to take a breath and count to three. It's just another stupid fucking day. </p><p>The breath must catch the attention of Craig, who doesn't look up but tosses the spoon into the sink in favour of pulling some strawberry laces out of his pocket and holding them in Tweek's direction. "You need to eat." </p><p>
  <em>Craig frowned, because since they were eleven and Craig suddenly was three inches taller, he was always the one who solved the problems. "But you've got to eat <b>something</b>."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I don't- I- everything makes me- makes me feel sick!" Tweek protested, curled up around Craig's Superman blanket to try and ease the stabbing hunger pains in his stomach. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Shit," said Craig, because they were thirteen and swearing was still cool because adults told you off for it. "Wait here."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Overall Tweek was unsure of how much time had passed, because it was already dark and the clock in Craig's room was permanently stuck on 2:14 am from the night Tweek couldn't sleep with the ticking and Craig took the batteries out. However much it was, Craig comes back in with a Walmart bag and empties it onto his bed triumphantly, spreading out the different packets of food so Tweek can see each one without having to uncurl. "I asked my mom, and she said something sugary and like, familiar is best for when you're feeling sick. She has white chocolate, so I got some of that if you wanna try it. There's also, uh, strawberry laces, normal chocolate, haribos and, uh-"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tweek uncurled to poke at the strawberry laces, the smell spilling from the packet the only thing that hadn't made him gag in the last two days. Delighted, he met Craig's eyes as if to ask for permission before eagerly stuffing as many as he could fit into his mouth.</em>
</p><p>As has been for years now, the strawberry laces stick in his stomach no matter how much he's thrumming with anxiety. Craig finally looks up at him after he's half-devoured the packet and smiles, a small and soft smile that seems to be reserved for rare moments, like when he's watching Tricia play with Stripe and he doesn't think anyone can see him smile. Tweek half wonders why that smile is surfacing now, watching him scoff strawberry laces whilst Kenny makes all kind of weird waking-up noises behind him.</p><p>"What fuckin' time is it?"</p><p>"Time for school, fucker. If you're not ready in five minutes we're leaving without you."</p><p>"'m fuckin' ready, Tucker. Be a darlin' and roll me a cig for the drive."</p><p>"You're not wearing any <em>fucking</em> clothes," Tricia antagonises, because Kenny is truly lying there in just his underwear. "You can't smoke with us in the car anyway."</p><p>"If you get up now, you'll have time to smoke before we have to leave," Karen suggests, and Kenny's in his bedroom tugging on clothes before Tricia has time to make some other kind of rude comment. </p><p>"You're a miracle worker," Craig insists, completely serious. "Teach me how to do that, I beg you."</p><p>Karen just laughs, chipped tooth and cheeky smile making her the perfect image of her brother. </p><p>
  <em>"Yeah, but," Karen had mumbled, kicking at where the carpet is peeling next to the couch. "He nice?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"'course he is, kiddo. D'you think I'd let some asshole live next door?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tweek didn't see her response - his back was to the door whilst he ashed his cigarette and pretended really hard that he wasn't eavesdropping. He'd tried to talk to Clyde about this last week- or rather, he'd tried to talk to Token about it because Token is a container of actual, useful advice, but Clyde had insisted on sharing his opinion anyway. Clyde's advice normally centers around sex (in a limited, inexperienced and disappointingly heteronormative fashion) so any other topic is wildly out of his reach, meaning he attempts to give advice anyway but it's horrendously poor at best. Anyway, he'd said something along the lines of 'she's just a kid, right? Why does it matter?' which was nearly the opposite to the kind of thing he was going for. Thankfully, Craig had resurfaced and reminded him that he also had a sister who was actually friends with Kenny's sister, so why Tweek hadn't come to him for advice was wild.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You've gotta start by helping out a little, but only when she asks. If you rock up and start tryna involve yourself in everything, it'll be weird. Just hang around in the background and something will come up."</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It came up on a boring Thursday evening, fifteen minutes after Tweek got home and semi-collapsed on the sofa after a twelve hour shift at work. Kenny was frying something or other in the wonky frying pan and humming Baby Got Back whilst he cooked, and Karen was calling out questions that Tweek couldn't quite hear over the noise of the vegetables sizzling. Sleep tugged at the corner of his mind, being held back only by how good dinner smelt and Kenny's humming-now-turned into questionable rapping. The stove turned off and Tweek heard a "uh, damn- want me to google it?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tweek rises his head in hope. Maybe this is his chance?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He looked across into the dirty mirror and sees his hair in about eight different tufts. Maybe not.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"'s fine. You gotta make dinner 'n you've got work."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You could ask Tweek?" he suggested, winking at Tweek as soon as Karen turned her back. "You can do math shit, right?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tweek could, in fact, do math shit.</em>
</p><p>Ever since then, it's become a weekly thing. Like her brother (because most of her best qualities have been developed from her brother) she hates to come and ask for help, so Tweek gets home from work on a Thursday and sits at the table with a coffee to chat with Kenny while he cooks. If Karen needs help with her math homework - well, he's right there.</p><p> </p><p>"Cig?" Craig sighs, pulling another one out of the packet of Malborough Reds when Kenny dashes past and swipes the first one from his hand. Tweek shrugs and takes it, because free is free is <em>free, </em>and who is he to say no to a free anything? </p><p>"One day I'm gonna tell mom you smoke," Tricia threatens, and Tweek is glad for the distraction from the way his fingers are tingling after bumping Craig's. </p><p>"No you fuckin' won't 'cause I'll kill you."</p><p>"In your fucking <em>dreams</em>, dickhead. Hurry up."</p><p>Craig shoulders the back door whilst flipping her off the whole way outside, where the three of them smoke in silence, all three pretending they're less cold than they are. Brisk morning air nearly stings his lungs but it's relaxing, in a way. Like he's breathing in <em>life</em> instead of just air. </p><p>It's only when he sits in the front seat of the car that he's reminded that he actually has to <em>go</em> to school and interact with everyone who saw him have a meltdown in the cafeteria two days ago. Each pothole that Craig swerves past hits him in the stomach with a sickening jolt, almost <em>urging </em>the strawberry laces from earlier to reappear. Kenny and Tricia are enthusiastically debating something with Craig but no matter how hard he tries, the words are flying past his head and they won't go in at all. </p><p>"Shit," Craig grumbles, cutting through the deafening white noise. There's an unusual tightness in his voice that isn't normally present, and he keeps watching Tweek out of the corner of his eye whenever he thinks nobody is looking (but Tweek is always looking at Craig.) "Left my fucking headphones at yours." He pulls up in front of the school instead of into a nearby car-park, rolling his eyes and saying "get out, I'll swing back and get them." </p><p>Hand moving on autopilot despite the panic seeping into his head in thick syrupy waves, Tweek's fingers barely even brush the seat belt before Craig's squeezing them and trying to look him in the eyes. "Keep me company?" he suggests, voice still off-kilter and freaking Tweek out a little - but, freaked out or not, it's better than dealing with actually having to enter school. So he nods, and Craig lets go of his hand once his arm twitches. "Don't let Cartman sit in my seat in  History," Craig calls out to Kenny as he finishes clambering through the backseat. Butters is waiting on a bench outside the school and chatting with Nicole, but he jumps to his feet as soon as Kenny waves from beside the car. </p><p>Tweek wants to ask what's wrong, why Craig keeps looking at him like that and why he's so desperate for his headphones when he doesn't even have a free period on a Wednesday but he can't unclench his jaw, especially not for a question that he fears the response to. Instead, he digs his fingernails into his palms and counts the threads of his jeans until the car comes to an abrupt stop.</p><p>"Tweek," says Craig, still slightly unnerving but softer now.  "Tweek," he repeats after a confusing amount of time passes.</p><p>Tweek looks up. "We aren't home." They in fact are not outside Kenny's house but instead outside some empty looking storage containers in U-Stor-It. </p><p>"You were freaking out, dude. I wanted to check you were okay to go in, but like, not in front of the others." There's a pause, probably in which Craig is expecting some sort of reply, or at least a vague acknowledgement that he actually heard him. "D'you not wanna talk about it? We can just go back, if you want. Or go home. Whatever, dude."</p><p>"I don't-" Tweek starts, breath hiccuping in his chest as a different feeling blossoms outwards from his stomach. "I don't know- know <em>how</em> to talk." Meeting Craig's eyes terrifies him so he looks out of the window, watching the snow fall in light powder and waits for the inevitable pissed-off drive back to school, because Tweek is an asshole that doesn't know how to open up. </p><p>"Okay, uh. Let's- We'll start with: d'you wanna go to school today, or not?"</p><p>"Uh." No, but he's got to at some point, and the longer he leaves it the worse it will be. "Yes."</p><p>"Alright, uh, what're you worried about?" The panicked jumble of noise that Tweek doesn't mean to let out makes him wince, but after a moment he tries again. "D'you have any bad lessons today? Or is it, like, out of lesson shit that's worrying you?"</p><p>"Out. I've only got- got Math."</p><p>"That's fine, then," Craig decides, twisting the key in the ignition. "I'll just make sure I'm with you all day."</p><p>"You- I'm not- you can't just-" he pours out, frustration swinging wildly through his mind. Craig lets go of the keys to squeeze the other boy's hand and waits for him to try again. "I can't walk- go everywhere with- withyou babysitting me, I- that- people'll just be- take the piss <em>more.</em>"</p><p>Surprisingly, and annoyingly because Tweek doesn't understand it at all, Craig smiles. "D'you really think that's what I meant?" he asks, flicking Tweek's ear when he's met with a shrugged response. "You fucking idiot. Everyone's seen you beat the shit out of Cartman <em>loads </em>of times- and that one time with Clyde, I guess - but my <em>point</em> is that I'm not sticking with you to <em>protect you,</em> asswipe. I know you've got that shit covered."</p><p>"Why, then?" he demands, because this is not the direction he thought the conversation would be taking. </p><p>"To chill you out? To <em>support</em> you, if we're gonna be gay about it," he shrugs, as if what he's saying is no big deal, as if it's just another throwaway comment and not blowing Tweek's fucking mind. "I'll be a walking excuse to leave any conversation you don't wanna have."</p><p>"You're- You'd waste your- your day like that?"</p><p>"'s not a waste," is all he says before starting the car again, and Tweek feels his stupid eyes start to water. Craig grins at him, and the laugh he lets out when Tweek tells him to fuck off with all the love he can muster warms him from the inside. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>leave kudos if you liked it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. and i will drown in the fear.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"You haven't been sleeping," comes Craig's voice from the doorway, and damn, Tweek must be really tired if he's let two people sneak up on him in one day.</p><p>"I- In a manner of- of speaking, I have- I've been sleeping my whole life." Looking up from the scrubbed sink to meet his eyes in the mirror makes his stomach squirm, but he does it anyway. Craig looks tired too, much more tired than Tweek's seen him look recently and not in the mood for Tweek to be coy.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>It's the same dream, because it's always the same dream. Familiarity is pooling everywhere he looks; the excessive blood, the vomit, the glass, the body. But no matter how much he repeats to himself that it's a dream and he knows it's a dream, that doesn't stop his heart thumping painfully in his chest, the tears streaming down his cheeks looking at his dad on the table, the screams he's letting out as he tries to push the woman who looks like his mom away. Her singing is eerily quiet but it's deafening in his ears.</em>
</p><p>Craig's curled up around the spare sheet when Tweek wakes up and presses himself against the wall. <em>Breathe in-2-3-4, hold it, hold it, out</em>. Windows are shut and locked, he knows from the comically large padlocks he bought for them just to keep some peace of mind, but after he's regained his breath he'll have to go and check the door. <em>Breathe in-2-3-4, hold it, hold it, out</em>. The cool wall against his neck is nice, but the sheets are still sticking to him and Craig's elbow feels like 300 degrees when he touches it. Maybe some fresh air will be nice. So, after squeezing his eyes shut and counting to ten, he manouvers himself over Craig and swipes up the knife he keeps in his bedside drawer (it used to be under his bed, but then Clyde helpfully pointed out that if someone broke in they would probably hide under the bed,) picking up a full pack of Reds for good measure before clambering down the ladder towards the backdoor. He may be slightly panicked but not enough to be an idiot, so he pulls what looks like Kenny's joggers on over his own and also grabs Craig's sweater to put underneath his coat. </p><p>Outside, it's snowing lightly and starting to re-settle on the ground after the rain earlier in the evening. Thick snow clouds make the sky appear a soft purple and it's serenely peaceful. Tweek lights his cigarette and closes his eyes, letting the snow dull the little amount of noise and just take in the silence. When he thinks about going back to sleep, he thinks about his mother, so he stops planning on going back to sleep. What he does instead is finish his cigarette then go inside to make a coffee and roll a joint. Craig and Kenny have always been better at it - Craig's long fingers and Kenny's steady hands - but as long as his hands don't twitch at the wrong time, he should be fine.</p><p>It's going great until his hand spasms while he's tapping the weed in and the grinder falls right on to the joint, spilling the weed all over the coffee table. </p><p>"<em>Fucker</em>," Tweek hisses, forcing himself to still and take a deep breath before attempting to scoop it all back in. It kind of works, and whilst he's left with a very wonky joint, it's a joint nonetheless. </p><p>Once he's back outside (now with the fucking Fluffy Blanket that was a present from Kenny last year,) he decides to play one of Craig's many playlists as quietly as possible, because music just sounds so much better with a joint. Specifically, it's the only one Craig's ever shared with him - not like he keeps the other ones private, because Tweek's been listening to all of them since they both got Spotify - it's the one Craig made <em>to </em>share with him. </p><p>
  <em>"You listen to all my playlists," he'd said one afternoon, dropping his bag on Tweek's bedroom floor as Tweek paused the episode of Kitchen Nightmares on his computer. His tone was almost accusatory, as if he was waiting for Tweek to deny it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Uh, yeah?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You hate my music."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You- I fucking don't. I hate like, like fifteen percent of- of it. The- the trap shit."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Craig had just stared at him for a second, a little too long to be normal, before shrugging and dropping down onto Tweek's bed. "Let's play Halo."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And they played Halo, and Tweek thought nothing more of it until Craig's account had a new playlist entitled 'Tweek' the next day.</em>
</p><p>Sure, now he's listening to it, most of them make him think of Craig. Well. All of them.</p><p>
  <em>'Now I'm livin' high doin' what I wanna.'</em>
</p><p>Tweek flicks the ash into the snow, listens for the soft sizzle and lets the high warm him from the inside. He's not okay, exactly. But at the same time he is.</p><p>
  <em>'This not what we had in mind, but maybe someday.'</em>
</p><p>"Mind if I join you?" Craig asks from the doorway, voice gravelly with lack of use and hair poking in many different directions in a rare appearance without his hat. The jumper he's wearing is thick but too big, sloping down to reveal one of his collarbones and covering his hands as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. "Wha' fucking time's it?"</p><p>"It's only three. You- go back to- to bed."</p><p>"And leave you out here by yourself?" he counters, tone grumpy but actions betraying him as he lays a plastic bag down on top of the empty chair and promptly sits in it. </p><p>
  <em>'And nothing hurts anymore, I feel kind of free.'</em>
</p><p>"Nah, we listened to this earlier," he sighs, accepting the spliff and skipping the song.</p><p>
  <em>'Bound, to fall in love.'</em>
</p><p>Tweek looks at Craig, and thinks: <em>fuck</em>.</p><p>---</p><p>"...ve you?" comes Kenny's voice from right next to his ear, and he jumps, makes some kind of embarrassing noise and knocks a whole packet of flour off of the workbench.</p><p>"Wha?" is all he manages to articulate, desperately scanning his surroundings to try and work out where he is and what he's meant to be doing. </p><p>"I <em>said</em>, you haven't slept since Monday, have you?"</p><p>"What- uh, what day's it?" is all his brain has the capacity to reach.</p><p>"It's <em>Saturday</em>."</p><p>"Huh," he says, hopefully sounding thoughtful and distracting Kenny so he can get to work on whatever he was doing before he passed out onto the workbench. He's in the kitchen connected to the stock room at work, largely unused before his parents stopped working here but completely top shape now he's been cleaning it for the last few months. Then "oh, <em>fucker</em>," because what he was doing was baking cupcakes, and he's pretty sure he put them in the oven, meaning they're probably still in the oven.</p><p>"Relax. Annie came in when the oven started beepin' but she didn't wanna wake you, so she called me. Or, she called Butters- but whatever. Go home and sleep, Tweek." Tweek stretches, waves him away over his shoulder and pads over to the tray of now-cooled cupcakes. "Why're you bakin'?"</p><p>"Always wanted to- to- a bakery. To have one. Found this- this kitchen when I got the, the keys from my Aunt. Thought now I- I'm outta school, I should try." It's nothing ridiculous, just some little sponge cupcakes he's planning to decorate into butterfly cakes. But baking makes him happy.</p><p>"Very cute, my dude. Now they're outta the oven, fuckin' go home."</p><p>"No," he grits out, not turning around to face him. "'ve already slept."</p><p>"You're lucky I've gotta be at work ten minutes ago," Kenny sighs, pulling him in by the shoulder for a tight hug. "Please get some rest." </p><p>And just like that, he's gone. Unsurprisingly, Tweek does not go and get some rest but instead starts the process of cutting the insides of each cake out to halve them and turn them into butterfly wings. It's relaxing, the repetitive methodical icing of the wings, and before he knows it, Annie comes in to tell him he's been in the kitchen for four hours and Kenny phoned to say she had to forcibly remove him. He bribes her with a cupcake to fuck off, before placing the tray on the serving counter with a kind of ugly handmade note saying <em>Try me for $2! </em>If only that was all he had left to do. <em>Oh well</em>, he thinks as the lorry pulls up around the back of the coffee shop. It's not like he would go to sleep if he went home - when his nightmares get this bad, his method is normally to stay awake until a) he has the opportunity to get shitfaced and pass out, or b) wait until his body stops working from lack of sleep and he passes out. </p><p>The delivery driver isn't the normal one, meaning he doesn't get out of his truck to help Tweek lift the sacks of coffee beans, which is fine until it isn't. Disappointingly, Tweek manages three and a half sacks successfully transported into the store room until his knees give way carrying the fourth and it slumps onto the floor. Grumbling under his breath, the not-normal delivery driver pulls in the other thirteen sacks and doesn't make eye contact until Tweek hands him a twenty in the form of a tip. "Y'look like yer dying," is all the man says before holding out a clipboard for Tweek to sign and then getting back in his truck to drive away.</p><p>It's nearly closing time when Tweek's finished sorting the coffee beans into the <em>exact </em>places they belong under his sorting system, but the shop is quiet and Annie is training a new guy - Tommy, or Timmy, Tweek isn't sure - so he sees no reason to go into the front room. Instead he slinks off to the staff bathroom, unnoticed, and goes about splashing his face in the mirror. Water does little to soften the deep purple and puffy bags under his eyes. When he stares at his reflection, something unhinged blinks back at him.</p><p>"You haven't been sleeping," comes Craig's voice from the doorway, and damn, Tweek must be <em>really</em> tired if he's let two people sneak up on him in one day.</p><p>"I- In a manner of- of speaking, I have- I've been sleeping my whole life." Looking up from the scrubbed sink to meet his eyes in the mirror makes his stomach squirm, but he does it anyway. Craig looks tired too, much more tired than Tweek's seen him look recently and not in the mood for Tweek to be coy. </p><p>"When did you <em>last </em>sleep?"</p><p>Tweek drops eyes contact, grabs some paper towels from the dispenser and starts roughly drying his face to avoid having to look at the other boy. "Monday," he mumbles, as if saying it with his back turned makes the consequences of it less real. He doesn't turn around at first, just braces himself and waits for the yelling that doesn't come. When he does look, Craig is now standing just a couple feet away from him, hat off and a hand running through his hair. </p><p>"When're you closing?"</p><p>"Uh, what? I- I mean- in like, an hour."</p><p>"Can Annie close up for you?"</p><p>Tweek weighs it up for a minute, shrugs and nods. It's a Sunday tomorrow so they don't open until 10, meaning if Annie fucks up closing he'll have a chance to fix it. </p><p>"Get your stuff, we're going to Kenny's." There's no question in it; it's an instruction, not a suggestion. Tweek no longer holds the willpower to ignore such instructions, so he grabs his jacket, hangs up his apron, may or may not have said goodbye to Annie and gets into Craig's car.</p><p> Without having to ask there's already a cigarette in his mouth and he nods in thank you. The drive back is quiet, with the subtle threatening air of a serious talk once they arrive home. Tweek hopes Karen is home so they won't have to talk. Unsurprisingly, she isn't, which in hindsight Craig probably already knew (because all she really does is hangs out with Tricia.) When Craig makes his way into the kitchen, Tweek turns the TV on and starts rolling a spliff in hope that Craig will be distracted and not make him talk about anything. </p><p>"So," Craig says, the exact opposite of what Tweek was hoping. "Why haven't you slept the last four nights?" he asks when Tweek does a mediocre job of pretending he didn't hear him speak. Continuing to roll the spliff, Tweek just shrugs. Craig isn't satisfied with this, judging from the tone he uses when he says "<em>Tweek.</em>"</p><p>"I don't- don't wanna talk about- about it, man," he counters, attempting to keep his tone as light as possible, an attempt that is probably marred by his gritted teeth. In his peripheral he sees Craig take a deep breath, pinch the bridge of his nose and go back to staring at the ground. </p><p>"I know you hate getting- getting deep, or talking about your feelings or whatever, but this is serious, Tweek! We're all like, so worried about you and you won't fucking tell anyone <em>anything.</em>"</p><p>Tweek ignores him for as long as is humanly possible, which is around when he's finished rolling and started to tap it on the table. "I- fuck. Can we- can we just, just smoke this and- and be normal. And then I'll talk, or- or whatever." And then he's up and walking towards the backdoor, and Craig follows. Silence follows whilst he sparks it, but it's not a welcome silence, nor is it peaceful. Tweek's nearly about to explode with tension until Craig finally, <em>finally</em> clears his throat.</p><p>"Fine- <em>fine. </em>But tomorrow," he says, pointing at Tweek so fiercely he nearly pokes his nose, "we are <em>talking </em> about shit if it kills me."</p><p>Once again, Tweek would rather die than talk about anything at all, but he's taken a today problem and made it a tomorrow problem - maybe that's not necessarily an <em>achievement</em> as such, but it's certainly something. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. trust, you said (who put the words in your head?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Coffee for my troubles?" he beams, sticking his elbow lightly into Tweek's side until he rolls his eyes. </p><p>"Go straight to- to the back," he sighs in defeat, because customers will probably complain about his printed wifebeater that reads 'fuck me if you wanna' in bold rainbow print. Kenny is a man of many depths.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tweek didn't sleep well, exactly, but if we're using the average person's definition of sleeping well then he hasn't slept well since he was like, eleven. Maybe he did wake up three more times before he needed to get up for work, but every time he did Craig would wake up as well, and that made falling back asleep a lot easier. Protruding hipbones in the mirror remind him he hasn't had a proper meal in several days (something Kenny chastises him for when he lets himself in to the kitchen in a way that can only be described as motherly,) so he makes sure to shovel one of the pot-porridges into his mouth whilst he's frantically searching for his left shoe. Kenny watches him amusedly and doesn't help at all, leisurely slumped across the sofa eating plain white bread and smirking every time Tweek knocks something over. </p><p>"You could- it- it wouldn't hurt to, to help, y'know," Tweek feels the need to announce as his elbow smacks into the vase of flowers Karen picked yesterday and it flies onto the floor (miraculously it is unharmed, but the flowers look disappointingly broken.) Kenny abandons the bread in favour of cackling into his elbow. "You're a- a- a bitch."</p><p>"Shut up, Tweek-y boy. Go get the keys and I'll drive ya."</p><p>"I- Firstly, it- it's Craig's car. Sec- secondly, you don't have a license."</p><p>Standing up after a relaxed sigh, Kenny stretches his arms over his head until his shoulders crack and grins lazily. "Not legally, no. D'you wanna lift or nah?"</p><p>Tweek glowers at him as his fingers refuse to co-operate with his shoe laces- but, it's 9:50 and the shop opens at 10. "Go and fuckin' get, get dressed."</p><p>In Kenny's defence, they're both leaving the driveway in less than two minutes. Craig would almost definitely have much to say about a license-less Kenny taking his car, but he would also probably have a lot to say about the straights Tweek swiped from his jacket pocket, so he's hardly going to tell on Kenny. Besides, the only reason Kenny doesn't have a license is because he can't afford to take the test. He's a much better driver than Tweek could ever be.</p><p>"Coffee for my troubles?" he beams, sticking his elbow lightly into Tweek's side until he rolls his eyes. </p><p>"Go straight to- to the back," he sighs in defeat, because customers will probably complain about his printed wifebeater that reads 'fuck me if you wanna' in bold rainbow print. Kenny is a man of many depths. </p><p>There's only two customers waiting outside when he opens the shop, so once he's served them he takes Kenny a cappucino where he's perched on the kitchen bench in the back, reading a pink post-it that looks like Annie's handwriting. "All yer cupcakes were sold, did y'know?" he's saying, sipping at the coffee until he's got some kind of frothy moustache. "I bought one on my way out, dude, and it was fuckin' awesome."</p><p>"Thanks," Tweek manages with a grimace, because compliments are like, some weird unknown entity that he doesn't know how to respond to. Kenny doesn't seem to mind; he just ruffles his hair fondly and carries on sipping at the coffee. "I kinda- I really wanna do it- do it full time. I'd need like- like- like, so much more time that I don't have, though. And I'd need, need to like, hire someone else, which- which'd be a scrape for funds."</p><p>"Why don't'cha just drop outta school? 's legal without permission once you're 17 here."</p><p>"I-" is about as far as Tweek gets, because this never fucking occurred to him. He wouldn't get any qualifications, like at all- but all he's ever wanted to do was what he's doing now. Even before his parents died, he always planned to split away from them when he legally could and open up his own place. College terrfies him and absolutely no part of him wants to go, so it would kind of be like he was staying at school for no reason if he stayed.If he dropped out, he could boost sales by being in more often, selling cakes and hopefully pulling in enough to start paying a new employee. </p><p>"Ground control to Tweek," Kenny says in a very poor Space Oddity Bowie voice. "You in there?"</p><p>"It's- fuck, man- I- I- can't believe I've, I've never thought of that?" he gets out, head spinning at a mile a minute. The bell on the door rings and Kenny grins gleefully as he dashes to serve the mother and her kids who're waiting. What the fuck? It's such a good idea, but it's almost so good that it's overwhelming. This coupled with the fear of having to speak to Craig after he's finished work is too much. </p><p>"My husband was in yesterday and he brought me this cupcake- he told me it was homemade but I couldn't believe it!" the woman smiles, petting her youngest girl's hair in a way that makes Tweek's chest ache. "I don't suppose you're selling any more today?"</p><p>"Oh my God," Tweek's mouth helpfully supplies for him, then "Oh, uh- I mean, uh- It was like, a- a trial thing, but if you really- uh, liked them, I'll def- d- start doing them more often." She smiles, thanks him for the latte and hot chocolates and wanders out with the two girls. Kenny's stood behind him when he turns back towards the kitchen. "Fuckin- get back in the kitchen," he hisses, because the last thing he needs is a complaint.</p><p>"What's on ya mind, kiddo?" he asks in the infuriating tone of knowing, somehow, that something is wrong. "Craig was givin' me weird vibes when he just called 'n asked where his car's gone."</p><p>"Maybe 'cause you- you stole his car?" Tweek tries, but it comes out more scared than sarcastic. Kenny finishes the rest of his coffee and just looks at him until he crumbles. "Fine. He, he- uh, he said I had- had- fuck," he curses, sinking his fingers into his hair and counting to five like his mom used to tell him to do all of the time. "He said I had to- to talk to him. About- about like, important shit."</p><p>"I never knew our dear Craig Tucker was one for talking about his feelings," Kenny mock-swooned, and it was almost funny until he straightened up and added, "But what kind of feelings, hm?" while waggling his eyebrows in a way that makes Tweek go an ugly pink. </p><p>"Fuck yourself," he glares, pulling the flour out of the overhead cupboard, because if the shop is empty he may as well cook. </p><p>"It'll be fine, kiddo," Kenny nods, in the kind of voice that sounds like he knows exactly what he's talking about - something that probably shouldn't reassure Tweek but does anyway. "It's Craig- if he's good for anything, it's listening."</p><p>"I know, I just- shit, I fucking hate talking about- about my feelings! It's fucking gay! There's all this- this- this eye contact and shit, man." </p><p>Kenny shrugs, dipping his finger into the flour and swiping it over Tweek's nose. "You don't have to make eye contact, y'know. You could talk over like, a spliff or a game of Halo or somethin'."</p><p>"Ken? You back there?" Butters calls from the front room - weird, he didn't hear the bell go - prompting Kenny to leap off the kitchen counter and very nearly take the flour with him. </p><p>"I am summoned," he announces, squeezing Tweek's shoulder in apology. "You'll nail it." </p><p>Tweek's not so sure.</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the shift speeds by; Annie calls in sick, but her training seems to have paid off because the new kid she was in with yesterday is serving customers just fine. And hey, he bakes another set of cupcakes as well as a chocolate sponge and sells pretty much all of it. But as much as he really does enjoy baking, he does not enjoy watching the hands of the clock move progressively quicker as the end of his shift approaches. Tweek loves Craig- no, no, not like that. Well- no. There's absolutely not enough time, nor does he have the emotional energy to explore that thought right now. Tweek views Craig as a very close friend. It's not that he doesn't want to talk to him because it's Craig. He doesn't want to talk to anyone. What is Craig supposed to say? 'Oh, sorry your mom had a psychotic drug-fuelled break and killed your dad and tried to kill you, and now you can't sleep without thinking about it.' How is that supposed to do anything other than make both of them mildly uncomfortable?</p><p>He's mid scooping leftover cake batter into his mouth when Craig lets himself in to the kitchen, grinning as soon as he catches Tweek with chocolate presumably all over his face. "Ready to go?"</p><p>Tweek hadn't planned for this - he was hoping to have the 20 minute walk home to get his shit sorted and decide what he was going to say, what snippets of truth he was going to mash together in a way that would satisfy Craig. Now he has the four minute drive home, which he'll spend worrying about only having four minutes. "Yep," he forces out, but it comes out all squeaky and wrong and not his voice at all. Craig doesn't seem to mind that much. He just smiles, the soft smile Tweek doesn't get to see very often, and digs the Reds out of his denim jacket. </p><p>"Cig?"</p><p> </p><p>Kenny's not in when they get home, which is the opposite of what Tweek was hoping - Karen's in her room judging from the death metal playing on her tinny CD player, but she won't come out if Kenny's told her to leave them alone. "So," Craig says, dropping the keys on top of the unopened pile of letters. When Tweek says nothing, he sighs softly and walks over to flick the kettle on. "Dude."</p><p>"I don't know what you want me to say," Tweek says through gritted teeth, heart racing because he doesn't know how to deal with this at all but Craig is clearly expecting an answer and he might even get pissed off if Tweek doesn't say anything but he doesn't know what to say and-</p><p>"Hey," Craig says gently, and suddenly he's right in front of Tweek and nudging his hands away from tugging at his hair. "I don't want to freak you out, dude. I'm just worried."</p><p>"Can- can we play Halo?"</p><p>Craig frowns, stirring a ridiculous amount of sugar into his coffee. "You promised-"</p><p>"No- no, dude, can we play like, like, while we talk? I need to- to focus on something else or, or I'll freak out." The frown dissipates slightly as he weighs it up, seemingly deciding there's no issue with it. Best case scenario.</p><p>The silence that follows while Tweek turns on the Xbox and scrabbles around the sofa cushions to find the second controller isn't awkward, but it's off, and he can't help the visible relief that floods through him when the load-screen music cuts through it. Craig still seems wary, but when he says "So," this time, Tweek doesn't have an issue talking.</p><p>"I think- uh, I might, might drop out of school," he starts, and it doesn't really relate to Craig's questions but it's certainly a start. He's met with silence, which freaks him out, but then Craig hits his character over the head with a gravity hammer and nudges him encouragingly. "I'm fucking- I'm shit at, at doing work. I hate everyone. Cartman makes me- makes me want to- to claw my eyes out. And- and- and all I've ever wanted to- to do is have my own- my own coffee-bakery thing."</p><p>"If you're like, sure, then it sounds like a fuckin' cool idea. School's not for everyone." There's a pause where Tweek shoots Craig like, six times, before Craig clears his throat again. "Why aren't you sleepin'?"</p><p>And yeah, the question does still make anxiety bubble in Tweek's stomach, but it's bubbling and not burning like it normally would. Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it, but he doesn't feel like the words are going to make him choke. "I get- uh, like- like, nightmares a lot. They've been- I dunno, really- really bad this week."</p><p>"Every night?" Craig hums, keeping his tone light and shifting on the couch so their knees are pressed together. </p><p>"Nah- I just, when they're- when it's bad, I- I like, avoid sleeping."</p><p>"That's... understandable," Craig manages, but Tweek kills him too easily, which probably means that he's lying. "You can understand why I have an issue with this."</p><p>"What- what'm I s'posed to- to do?" Tweek half-snaps, meant to come out defensive but just sounding kind of pathetic. </p><p>"I was doing some like, research on falling asleep easily and like, not dreaming- dunno, thought it might be helpful," Craig starts, and Tweek nearly drops his controller because Craig's spent time researching? For him? "You probably don't want me to like, talk you through it, 'cause that's super patronising. But like, if I send you the articles, will you try some of it?"</p><p>Tweek swallows, counts to five in his head. "Yeah. If- if you want."</p><p>Suddenly, the player 2 controller is abandoned on the arm of the couch and Craig's arm is around him, kind of awkward and lanky but squeezing him into a hug anyway. There is no rational explanation for the way this makes Tweek's stomach jump, or for why he can still feel the warmth of the arm on his shoulders long after Craig moves away again. "I- thanks, dude. You wanna have a joint?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>is anyone still reading this??</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. never coming home (should i?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>His body rockets up on autopilot to his desk, where he sits and rolls himself a cigarette and lets his mind race. So Craig lied? Why would he lie? Why did he do that?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>in my massive depressive slump i forgot that i had loads of prewritten chapters that i just hadn't posted. this got a little attention recently, so i may as well post all of them. disclaimer; not sure i'll actually finish this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's only 7pm when Tweek lets himself in to Kenny's apartment, cheeks stinging from the cold, but Kenny seems to have made a sizeable dent in Clyde's prize bottle of Tequila (the one with the post-it that says <em>dont drink </em>in Clyde's scratchy writing.) </p><p>"Y'wanna?" he sighs, holding it up in Tweek's direction. Dinner in the form of cold City Wok is already on the coffee table, so Tweek drops his bag and shrugs in agreement, swiping the bottle from his hands and chugging as much as he can until his gag reflex threatens to kick in. "Rough day?" Kenny chuckles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Tweek decides to roll a reserve of joints whilst he's still sober enough.</p><p>He only gets through 3 before Kenny's pushing the tequila over to him and mumbling something about nothing at all, so he makes do with what he has and swipes up the blanket to throw over his shoulder. "Outside."</p><p>"Inside," Kenny protests as he stands up and <em>wow</em>, he's drunker than he thought <em>already</em>.</p><p>"Karen's home," he reasons, and Kenny complies instantly, wobbling to his feet and out of the back door even though he's only wearing socks. Tweek makes a mental reminder to make sure none of his toes have fallen off when they come back inside. "What- what's wrong, dude?"</p><p>"Butters's goin' to college," he sighs, pouting in a way that can only be described as melodramatic. <em>Oh boy</em>, Tweek thinks, and chugs as much tequila as his body will physically allow so he's physically able to engage with this conversation. "He's gonna find some like, buff <em>collegey</em> boy who's even <em>more</em> sexier than me."</p><p>"Butters loves you," Tweek reasons, sparking the spliff and letting the burn of the alcohol pleasantly warm him from the inside.</p><p>"Yeah, but," is Kenny's counter argument. Tweek not only understands but completely relates when he sinks his head into his hands and makes some kind of groaning-wailing noise. "What'f he loves someone else?"</p><p>"He's not- not- he's only goin' like, an hour's drive. You'll be, uh- be able to visit him loads?" he tries. Tweek suspects that his reasoning is actually a bit all over the place because he's just dumped an offensive amount of tequila into his empty stomach, but as long as Kenny is 40% drunker than him, he'll never notice. "Facetime."</p><p>"Yeah, yeah, fuck- fucken' video chat or whatever. I'm just gonna like, miss him. And miss him so much, like you don't even get it- i's gonna be so, so much. So like, what if he's out and about missin' me, and he's like <em>aw gee, missin' Ken is so much effort when I could just sleep with someone at college and not have to worry about nasty ol' distance.</em>" Though the impression is remarkable for someone totally sloshed, Tweek's forcing himself not to laugh because there's no doubt the comment was totally serious. </p><p>"Tweek- fuck, no- shit, that's my name- uh, <em>Butters</em> isn't gonna- gonna just stop <em>lovin'</em> you, dude. College doesn't- it- it won't change anything. It's just- just distance."</p><p>"Your words are in my head and they logically make the sense, like my logic brain part is saying <em>yes, very true.</em> But my stomach still feels gross and weird."</p><p>Tweek passes him the spliff, closes his eyes and lets his head spin pleasantly. "Dude, I fuckin- I worry about- about everything. I'm not worried about- about Craig goin' to- to- to college. You don't- you shouldn't worry."</p><p>"Maybe," he hums, clearly still moping but also distracted by the smoke curling out of his mouth. "Wait, wait-" he starts, putting the joint down on the table to start adding up on his fingers. "What'd you just say, dude?"</p><p>"Hm?" he asks, swiping the joint and only half listening. "Uh, don't- uh, don't worry about college?"</p><p>"No- no, no dude. About Craig."</p><p>"'m not worried about- about Craig, so don't, uh- don't worry 'bout Butters?" he tries, swigging the bottle once more.</p><p>"Tweek," he says in an odd voice, "Are you tellin' me you're in love with Craig?"</p><p>Any immediate response is dulled by the alcohol and then immediately stopped by his dropping of the spliff and the cherry burning his index finger. "Fuck- uh, no? Why would- would you- why would I- love Craig? I- where did you- but- it's not, I don't-"</p><p>"Chill, kiddo," Kenny grins, clearly convinced regardless of whatever Tweek's trying and failing to communicate. "I already knew. I just didn't think <em>you</em> knew, y'know?"</p><p>"I- what?" he pleads, because <em>what? </em>Does that mean Kenny know's he's gay? Did Kyle tell him? Has Kyle told <em>everyone? </em>Does that mean Craig knows?</p><p>"Jus' like, how you look't him, 'n like, how you talk about him, and like, all that stuff."</p><p>"I'm just- he's my best- my best friend- did Kyle tell- say anything to you?"</p><p>"Nah- well, yeah, he's your best buddy and all that gay shit, but you're out here lookin' at him like he was like, the guy who hung the stars in the sky and all <em>that</em> gay shit. Kyle ain't said shit to me. But you said somethin' to him?"</p><p>"I'm gay," Tweek blurts out, because it seemed like a good idea in the moment, except the second he let the words out he'd never regretted anything more. It's not- well, it's hard to explain. And maybe Kenny's right, because the only reason he hasn't come out is because of Craig. He's not scared because he thinks Kenny will judge him - he's possibly the least judgemental person in South Park - or even tell anyone - he's a gossip but he takes secrets seriously. Tweek feels- <em>wrong</em> is too strong of a word, maybe just off. Like he's been lying to Craig all this time by sharing a bed with him and getting changed with him and all of that stuff, and if Tweek comes out Craig's not going to want to do any of that stuff anymore. The feeling in his stomach at the idea of never sharing the bed with Craig again sends a gross feeling into his chest- that's super gay, which is concerning.</p><p>"Woah, thanks for tellin' me, dude. I'd kind of guessed, but that's only 'cause my gaydar is fuckin' through the roof. Kyle knows, then? If I was like, less wasted, I'd be all <em>why did you tell Kyle 'n not me</em> but I totally won't do that."</p><p>"It was an- an accident, you bitch. I didn't- didn't wanna tell him." Tweek laughs despite himself, pretends his voice doesn't crack next time he speaks. "Haven't even told Craig."</p><p>"You should," Kenny informs him, as if he wasn't already drowning in guilt. "But like, not 'cause he deserves t'know," he clarifies, which lifts the weight slightly. "Nobody <em>deserves </em>to know, 'cause it's your thing. You c'n tell as many people as you want- or nobody else, if y'want. But you should tell Craig 'cause you're clearly scared. Tellin' him'll make you see why there's nothin' to be scared of. </p><p>Tweek swallows and closes his eyes, because if he tries to focus on anything else other than what's just been said, he'll probably explode. After a minute, Kenny's alarm cuts through the silence and he jumps up, immediately slipping on the icy grass and standing back up again. "Bedtime, kiddo. Early start tomorrow." How Kenny knows that Tweek's working early tomorrow he's not sure, but he lets himself be coaxed inside and through the house until he's standing at the front door with his keys in his hand. "Love ya big time," is Kenny's farewell, and then Tweek's alone and can't stop thinking about telling Craig. </p><p>His phone is speed-dialing Craig's number before he even makes it up the stairs.</p><p>-</p><p>Nothing in the history of planet Earth has ever been as hungover as Tweek is when his alarm goes off at 5:30am. Lucky that drunk him knew his normal getting-ready timeslot of twenty minutes was going to be impossible - he doesn't <em>remember</em> setting an alarm, but here he is, up when the sun hasn't even risen. Realistically, he <em>needs</em> a shower, and if he's going to get to work hon time he needs to get up <em>now</em>. But even in near darkness, his head is still pounding, and to shower he'll have to turn the lights on. He'd rather die.</p><p>Why the fuck did he let Kenny convince him to drink this much? On a Monday night, as well, which makes it all the more ridiculous. Fuck Kenny and his stupid job at City Wok where he gets to choose his hours. Maybe Craig could give him a lift to work? He'd definitely get to lie in for a bit longer if that was the case- and even though it would mean Craig would be leaving for school an hour early, he can normally be tempted with free coffee. Blindly, he gropes around for his phone where he's vaguely sure the charger is plugged in, thanking the hangover spirits for it being very much within reach. When he unlocks it, Craig's contact is already open.</p><p><b>Yesterday<br/>23:25pm </b>Outgoing Call<br/>                     1 minute 10 seconds</p><p>Shit. </p><p>Shit, shit, shit, fuck, holy shit, holy fucking <em>God</em>. </p><p>Craig picks up on the first ring, voice croaky from sleep and barely a whisper. "Yeah?"</p><p>"Morning! Sorry I- I woke you, uh-" the faked lightness of his own voice is hurting his head, but the panic cursing through his body has completely woken him up. There's no going back from this point. "If I- if you can be bothered, wanna pick- pick me up for, uh, to be at- be at work for seven? I'll give you free- uh, free coffee?"</p><p>"Mm. Fine, but only 'cause you asked nicely. 'n the coffee."</p><p>"Thanks!" he cheeps, and if Craig was any more awake he'd sense the nervous vibrations radiating down the phone. "By any chance, uh- did- did I, uh- did I call you? Last night, I mean."</p><p>"Uhhh..." Craig trails off, and Tweek is really, honestly about to be sick. "Oh, uh, yeah. You were just like, rambling some stupid shit. I can't really remember."</p><p>"Oh, alright- yeah, that's cool." Cool? What kind of cringe dickhead says <em>cool</em>? "Yeah, Kenny like- he stole Clyde's t- tequila. Anyway- I'll see- see you in like, an hour?"</p><p>"See you," Craig grumbles down the phone before hanging up.</p><p>See, the only thing is that Tweek doesn't really ramble when he's drunk. He'll debate like his life depends on it, and if someone gets him <em>talking </em>about something he's really interested in then there's no shutting him up. But that doesn't happen in a minute, normally. But why would Craig lie? Tweek must've tried to tell him and just been so drunk that it really didn't make sense. Or maybe he saw something on his tumblr feed that he simply <em>had</em> to speak to someone about. </p><p>
  <em><b>big daddy kenny: </b>omd howd it go then</em>
</p><p>Okay, <em>that's</em> questionable. Tweek clicks on his text conversation with Kenny and is met with possibly the worst message in the world, sent from himself last night at midnight.</p><p>
  <em>told craig.</em>
</p><p>His body rockets up on autopilot to his desk, where he sits and rolls himself a cigarette and lets his mind race. So Craig lied? Why would he lie? Why did he do that? Did he reject Tweek on the phone and then realise everything could go back to how it was if he just pretended he didn't know? Does he want to keep pretending? Maybe now he knows he's going to try and drift away from being Tweek's friend, and this way is just easier so Tweek doesn't feel like it's because he's gay. Is he going to stop seeing Tweek now that he's dropping out of school? Is Kenny going to have to pick one over the other to spend time with? Maybe Tweek might have to move out-</p><p>The sudden shock of cold snaps him out of it and he realises he's made it to the back garden and lit his cigarette. Okay, even he can admit that his thought spiral was at best unrealistic and definitely drastic. Maybe Tweek <em>truly</em> was just being stupid and thought he'd done a really good job of explaining, when in reality he hadn't. That's not an unlikely scenario; quite often, his brain moves in a way that makes complete sense to him and really not to anyone else.</p><p>Maybe he'll see Craig and it'll all make sense.</p><p>-</p><p>When he gets in the car, everything seems completely fine - Craig's not said anything or made any kind of gesture other than to stick a straight into his mouth, but he's never been overly talkative (besides, Tweek has to remind himself that he's really the only person capable of being completely awake at 6:45 in the morning.) He's nodding along with whatever bullshit Tweek's letting spew out of his mouth - the moon landing conspiracy but like, adlibbed - and occasionally interjecting, which is all fine and dandy and letting the anxiety in his stomach calm.</p><p>And then Tweek says, "Uh, are you- are you like, uh- sure there was- was nothing weird when I called you- you- you last night?"</p><p>Craig's fingers tighten on the wheel. It's incremental, barely noticeable, but Tweek <em>notices</em>. When he responds with "D'you not remember calling me then?" as if he's making sure he can't be caught out in a lie, Tweek's stomach drops. The longer this goes on, the more certain he is that he remembers calling Craig- not <em>remembers</em> remembers, but he's almost certain he told him that he was gay. Instead, he shakes his head. </p><p>"Nah, it was just like. Dunno, random drunk shit really."</p><p>"About- about what?"</p><p>"I dunno, it was late- does it matter?" he snaps, and if anything was going to shut him up it would be that. Not really trusting his voice not to crack, Tweek just shakes his head and starts rolling another cigarette. </p><p>Thankfully, when they pull up outside the coffee shop there's several customers outside; this means that when Craig follows him inside for the aforementioned coffee, there's an excuse to usher him away. It's not a good enough excuse, because Craig <em>always</em> stays until school starts, and when he leaves he has this weird and kind of confused look on his face. Whatever. Tweek's feeling this big ball of emotions - none of which he likes and all of which make him feel sick - but there's about ten customers waiting and nobody else in until 8:30, so he shuts it off completely and puts on his Customer Service face. It's not like he knows how to cope with this, anyway. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>let me know if you want more!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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